“Right.”
“On…on the stairs there. Some kind of fit.”
“Inconvenient.”
Flint very much suspected the slow drain of color from her pretty heart-shaped face said Thomas hadn’t just fallen on the stairs there. But so long as Flint didn’t follow, he was prepared to help her on this. He just needed to think how.
“James, if you’re going to—”
“I’m not anything. All right?” He sighed, feeling his hackles rise in response to the sting.
Here he was prepared to accept her story—why would even she be so stupid as to deliberately push Thomas when she needed the heir, after all?—and what did she do? Ignore his magnanimity, that’s what. When he could see damn fine, the way she’d stared at these stairs, she’d done something. Did she think he was blind as well as stupid?
He swallowed his ire. “I’m just thinking how to help you get him out of here. I’ll need a cart and a boat.”
She jerked her chin up as if now he’d said something distasteful. “A boat?”
“I’m not meaning a fully rigged ship. A rowing one will do.”
“But you in a boat…”
Him in a boat? What? Shouldn’t Thomas, or rather what hadn’t decomposed of him, be what she was thinking of in the boat, here? Not Flint.
“Yes, me in a boat. With Thomas. And I’ll dump him far out at sea. Look, what’s wrong with it?”
Her eyes darkened. “What do you think, seeing as you’re so clever? Besides, where am I going to get a boat from exactly?”
He wanted to think the recalcitrance was because she thought he might drown. But no. She had to go and think the worst—he wanted that boat to escape. He couldn’t believe it.
“There must be another way.” She shot him a glance. “A way that doesn’t involve boats.”
“I’m going to escape? That what you think?”
“Right now, I don’t know what to think. The offer is tempting. But yes.” Raising her chin higher, she eyed him squarely. “Since you ask, I’d need to know I can trust you. And I don’t know I can.”
Wasn’t that great, when he offered his services altruistically. For what was conceivably the first time in his life.
She really did think he was the lowest of the low, didn’t she? Because he didn’t think he was that transparent. Or maybe he just was. And she just did.
He gritted his teeth. Why the hell did he even need that foothold anyway? Staying here playing her damn silly games. What he had on her, he didn’t need to protect her. Give his seed for a damned boat. He sure to hell wasn’t that damaged polishing shoe buckles to the tune of a whip that he couldn’t leave here now and just find one.
“Like I said, I was going to take Thomas out to sea. I’m sure it’s preferable to him stinking up the cellar. But hell, that’s up to you. It’s no skin off my nose if you get caught.”
What the hell did she want to keep him for, when her contempt was plain? What she thought he knew? Rub his nose in fly shit was more like it.
“Look at it this way, I don’t come back, you get yourself someone else. Someone you don’t need all these fancy terms and conditions with, because you got yourself that little book. Now, how damned hard is that?”
Well, of course it wasn’t. Her head canted as though someone shone a beam of light across her thoughts. She was only ashamed she hadn’t thought of it that way herself. Because there wasn’t any other reason for her to look at him like that.
“Or maybe, sweetheart, you just want to keep me because you like me.”
She parted her lips. “Let…let me think about it.”
“You do that.” He wasn’t going to hold his breath. “I’ll be waiting upstairs for your answer.”
Even as Fury stood taut and motionless, watching him stride up the stairs two at a time, her mind screamed that she had no choice. He was right about everything. How could she be so foolish as to keep Thomas in the cellar any longer? She risked disease; she risked all kinds of things. But Flint had blackmailed her into choosing him. Had she known that truth, that he had been sold as his own damned cabin boy, would she have done it?
She swung on her heel and walked into the salon.
“Madam.” Susan’s feather duster clattered to the floor.
Fury didn’t care Susan was there. What didn’t Susan know? Anyway, without her coming to her rescue that day on the quay, Fury would have been in some mess.
“Don’t mind me.” Fury bit her lip. “I just need a moment. You heard all that, I suppose?”
“Well, it would have—”
“Been hard not to?”
Susan stooped down and grabbed the duster, snapping back up again like a curtsey. “Madam, it seems a reasonable offer.”
“Reasonable? Give you less to dust you mean.”
“We’d have to pawn more than the candlesticks of course. But what choice do we have?”
Straight to the point as ever. At least Susan didn’t lie to her. She couldn’t bear another lie this morning, although Flint’s lie was only to be expected.
Fury walked to the window and looked out at the faint breeze rustling the olive trees. She had loved the pretty view to start with. She had never seen anything like it in Jamaica or England. But somewhere all that had disappeared, and now it left her as soulless as everything else.
There was only one thing that didn’t. And it seemed even that was being taken from her, in dribs and drabs, every time Flint touched her. Was it worth it? She had begun to question if there wasn’t a simpler way to live. People didn’t have to have everything. It wasn’t that she did. But security was meat and drink to her.
“I’ll have to pawn more. Let’s not pretend about that.”
“Well then, madam. It’s not as if you won’t replace it all when you inherit the money.”
She parted her lips around her dismay. Pawning Signor Santa-Rosa’s belongings was the least of her worries. Putting her soul into hock was another matter.
No doubt Flint had overheard everything. The one thing about the blackmailing blackguard that could be counted on was that he’d not stoop to helping her otherwise. But there was no denying that in a crisis he could be counted on to be businesslike. She’d glimpsed the old Flint standing there. Maybe that had drawn her into listening when any woman, in her right mind, wouldn’t have entertained him.
The silver goblets clinked as Susan continued to dust. “You can always leave a note for Signor Santa-Rosa. You’ll have to anyway now.”
She would, wouldn’t she? But if she took Flint’s help, it put her in his debt. It wasn’t the place to be with Flint. What if he started demanding things? Other things. Things like she touch him or he touch her. What if he wanted the boat to run off?
“I just don’t know. I don’t know if it’s worth it.”
“Madam, what is it about him you don’t like?”
She shrugged. “Oh, please, don’t have me go into that. I’ve no wish to stand here all week.”
“Is it—is he—”
Fury dragged up her chin. “What makes you think that?”
“He’s quite a dish. I always thought—”
“Quite a—him?”
“Oh, yes, madam. I’d far rather a man like that in my bed than any of those others. I bet he’s good. I bet—”
“Fortunately you’re not me.”
In another second the woman would drool.
“Falling for him, are you? It’s the only other reason I can think you don’t like him, if that’s not—”
Susan’s voice held a degree of triumph, and something in Fury snapped.
“May I remind you, I am a widow. Recent, if not respectable. He’s not him. He’s not anyone but a rogue and a blackguard. He’s no one.”
“Why did you choose him?”
“What has that got to do with it?”
“Why won’t you let him do this if he’s no one?”
“Because—”
No. She would not be trapped into saying. She wou
ld first bite off her tongue than answer any of these questions. The real reason she couldn’t let him in.
“Maybe I will let him. Yes. You’re right, of course. It’s a good offer. One of the best I’ve had recently. I’m silly to refuse it. You just have to understand James is ruthless and self-seeking. He knows no better. He will want something in return. From me.”
“If it’s his freedom, you could give him that, couldn’t you? What’s Malmesbury going to do about that with what you have on him?”
Fury hesitated. Look at it this way, I don’t come back, you get yourself someone else. Someone you don’t need all these fancy terms and conditions with. That was what he’d said, wasn’t it? Standing there so vital and handsome in the white sunlight it broke her heart to look at him.
If he left—she might already be pregnant. But she could not afford to wait to find out. She would need to get somebody else. Then she would never know who had fathered the heir.
It was that, wasn’t it? That stopped her from giving him the boat, that stopped her now, when freedom was something he’d take anyway. It was just a question of when. Maybe even right now, for that matter, with that proud way of his, he was upstairs putting together his things.
And that was silly, when she couldn’t choose Malmesbury. What terrified her more? Giving Flint the boat? Or being in his debt?
She forced a smile. “We will pawn the dining room silver.”
“Very good, madam.”
Chapter Seven
In resigned silence, Fury entered the Blue Chamber. She knocked, of course, and Flint’s low voice told her to enter. His eyes widened when she walked in. He must have expected Susan, not her. But he didn’t alter his relaxed stance, although his lazy grin hardened.
“Welcome to my humble abode. To what do I owe this very great honor?
Humble? How like him to take a cheap poke, particularly when his humble was costing her a veritable fortune she didn’t yet possess and reduced her to pawning the dining room silver to pay for it. At least the rent was paid for another three months. And her fare home. If nothing else, it was one blessing.
“Since it’s also my abode, I take it as read I am welcome. I’ve decided to accept your generous offer.”
He canted his chin. “You’ve decided?”
“Yes. Susan is making the necessary arrangements with our bank.”
“She’s what?”
How good he was at feigning surprise. Did he think she couldn’t see the wheels whirring in that self-seeking mind of his?
“You talked a great deal of sense.” Fury spoke before he could ask why. Or maybe even flatter himself into thinking it was because she liked him. “Malmesbury is dangerous. But if you are able, under cover of darkness, to remove Thomas’s body and give it a decent burial, then I’m happy to provide the cart and the boat. Just don’t expect me to say a few words. And you must go in disguise. I don’t want anything traced back to me. Do you understand? Because what traces back to me, traces back to you.”
Even as she spoke, instinct screamed that she was making a calamitous mistake. But what other choice did she have? And if he went… She pushed the thought away. She must be sure to have her money’s worth first then, mustn’t she? Right now, if necessary.
“A boat?” He drew his brows together, something sharp gleaming in his eyes. “You’re giving me a boat?”
She stood and faced him, impassive. “Yes.” She walked to the bed.
If he thought she was providing the means for her to get shot of him, so much the better, because he was too handsome standing there, sunlight streaming across his chiseled features.
She could never let Flint be more than a means to an end. Even had he never left her on that quay, she’d be wrong to believe he could ever give her the only thing that could ever make that right. Love.
He could never give her—give any woman—that. He was a plunderer to his black-hearted soul. It would never have worked, and it would probably have destroyed her.
She had been young. It was excusable to think something would be forever. Not now though. If he took the boat and never came back it was no greater loss than before. So long as he disposed of Thomas, what did it matter?
Flint scratched the back of his neck. “That’s assuming I still want a boat, sweetheart. Maybe I don’t. Maybe I could get myself into a lot of trouble. You thought of that?”
Near the end, Thomas had beaten her. He had torn her hair. There had been times when he had still been able to discuss her situation rationally, when he had told her she had to do whatever it took to procure an heir. Surely, though, even he had not meant her to put up with this.
With a swish of her gray skirts she walked to the other side of the room. If she didn’t do this, if she walked out the room, when she sensed that towering pride of his forced these words from him… She swallowed. Well, she supposed she could get her money’s worth before she cut her losses.
“No, I mean it. Why should I go risking my neck helping you? It’s not like I put Thomas in that box.”
“Malmesbury told me about you disguising yourself as your own cabin boy. Fanciful, don’t you think? Almost as much as you pretending you didn’t hear everything he said out there.” She wasn’t for cutting her losses generously. “It is information with which I intend doing nothing, whether or not you help me. Enough time has been wasted this morning. I think we should just proceed.”
Hoping that her extravagant invitation to do so would convince him to obey, she turned. He stood with no trace of that look, the one that said he was grappling for some inner truth. She’d thought he would. She was a little ashamed to say in some deep part of herself she found it endearing.
This look of pure burning steel was a little more dangerous. Disquiet flickered. Proceeding, while he looked like that, was perhaps unwise. And yet, what could he do to her?
“Isn’t that a bit unusual for you?”
“Not really. I need this heir.”
“I’m meaning having that information and doing nothing with it.”
She shrugged. “It’s not that I’m dazzled with your charms. Let’s just say for old time’s sake, I’m prepared to keep quiet. Unlike you were the other night about certain things. Of course, I realize you were desperate. Now…”
This time his inhalation was furious. Muffled, but there just the same. Of course, she realized, as she walked to the bed, walking to the door might be a better option. The morning had been fraught with trial. But enough time had ticked away.
“In some respects, you have me wrong.” She sat down on the unmade bed. “You think I use everything that comes my way. You think I murdered Thomas and Celia.”
“You did have her things.”
She tilted her chin.
“And you said you were her.”
“Had I known that you and she were lovers, I might have kept my mouth shut. But the thing is, you never said. Not once. So how was I meant to know?” She leaned down and edged off her shoes. “Anyway.”
“Wait a minute, you want to do this here? Now?”
Imagine that. James Flint Blackmoore opposed to sex, the man who could work his way through a whorehouse in a morning. And be back in the afternoon for more.
She raised her chin and leveled her eyes at him. “Here and now is as good a place and time as any.”
He gestured at the door. “It’s just I thought…”
“You have some objection?”
Actually, she wasn’t wrong. For all her heart stuttered in the confines of her bodice, for all her stomach both churned and fluttered with nerves, now was as good a time as any. At any rate, she felt in control for the first time since she’d accepted him as the father of the heir. There would be no games. No tricks. She had made her preparation in private, before coming in here, just in case.
And she was not getting on top, no matter what he said. Not that she disbelieved him. But after last time and the manner in which he had finished things, when she had failed so spectacularly, she
was not laying herself open to even the faintest possibility of any enjoyment.
For all he was unable to grasp the meagerest straw of self-knowledge, Flint was clever. If he might somehow realize it was possible to move her, he’d do it. Hadn’t she already overreacted to the thought of the boat?
It shouldn’t have mattered. Yet, somehow it did.
It was vital, while she shrunk from the barest thought of this encounter, that she engage in it. And in a manner satisfactory to herself. Or she wouldn’t; she couldn’t do this again.
He knitted his brows. For whatever reason, he didn’t want her here like this.
“You see, I didn’t imagine you would object.” She set her shoes to the side.
His gaze froze. Yes, it was one thing for him to waltz into her room—when asked, of course—and another for her to meet him here. She’d remember that. She needed all the help she could get.
“Of course not. You want to shove over and I’ll see what I can do.”
“I have been thinking about this. And I realize I may have been a trifle harsh.” Her wrists ached as she gripped the mattress edge with hands frozen into claws. “I realize I may have expected impossible things of you. No?”
She shifted her shoulders. It didn’t pay to have him think she insulted him. After that blasted boat of his, the one thing the great Captain Flint took the most pride in was his sexual prowess. His body like a Greek god’s. His ability to do it at the drop of a hat.
“In terms of my own demands.”
It didn’t pay either, not to insult him. She thought her meaning was unmistakable, but she wanted to swipe that lazy grin from his face.
“Just so you know, I’m adopting a change of position.”
Of course his eyes would gleam.
“I’m going to turn around.”
She considered telling him to take the grin off his face. But she welcomed the strongly sexual Flint to whatever pleasure he could derive from this encounter. It was far more important she close any potential rifts he might open. Anyway, she wasn’t done yet. Not by any manner of means.
The Unraveling of Lady Fury Page 11
